


taking responsibility

by eversincewefellapart



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Daddy Kink, M/M, Mpreg, Nesting, Pining, Possessive Behaviour, Unsafe Sex, courting, sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:35:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22778053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eversincewefellapart/pseuds/eversincewefellapart
Summary: “I love being an omega,” Mitch says. He’s trying to stick his hair up into  soapy spikes as Auston watches him tiredly from the other end of the bathtub. “I don’t have to do things I don’t wanna do and people take care of me. What’s not to like?” He pauses. “Plus, heats aresick.”“Really?” Auston asks, mind racing. Maybe it’s not too surprising. Mitch adores being taken care of, likes being babied and coddled; given gifts and affection. Marty got him a four foot stuffed bear from the cinema arcade a few weeks ago and his whole face lit up when he received it. "You like heat?"“Yeah,” Mitch says, and pats all his hair down before wading through the water, bending over Auston and bumping their noses together. He's smiling all sweet but Auston still feels like prey. “I really like it. You just lie there and take it and it feelssogood ‘cause your body wants it so bad.”
Relationships: Mitch Marner/Auston Matthews
Comments: 39
Kudos: 527





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **content warnings**: tiny bit of mpreg, tiny bit of pregnancy kink, tiny mention of daddy kink. past mention of underage mitch and an alpha, although nothing ever happens between them. possessive behaviour.
> 
> you know how people write those incredible subversive a/b/o fics that have a lot of world-building and social commentary and take your breath away with how clever and well put together they are? this fic is the polar opposite of those. this is 10.6k words of pure un-subversive nastiness. it was initially inspired, all the way back in november 2019, by the time mitch was out because of his ankle and proceeded to be recorded acting like a little brat on the benches at practice, but i only started writing it this month. 
> 
> i edited this only once by briefly skimming it, so if anything looks wildly out of place please let me know! also i really had no clue how to tag this, sorry. the title is from Taking Responsibility by Kilo Kish. i hope it's a little bit enjoyable!

Auston’s not ever known anyone who likes being an omega as much as Mitch.

It’s not even passive acceptance, is the thing — he seems to really, genuinely _love_ being an omega. Auston, for most of his life, had noticed through both media and other kids at his school that no one liked being an omega. It was at best tolerated and, at worst, cried over after presenting as such.

Mitch is, as always, an outlier.

“You should help me, like,” Mitch is saying now, sitting astride Auston’s thighs, “through my heats.”

Auston’s had his arm thrown over his face for the past twenty minutes, blocking out the light of the living room from his eyes, and he doesn’t move it now because his head throbs too badly, but he does think about it. “What?”

“It’s fun!” Mitch says, and Auston can hear the smile in his voice. “It’s, like, having sex for a week straight. That’s fun.”

Auston knows exactly what it’s like to take an omega through their heat; he doesn’t need to be told.

“Mitchy,” Auston says, and then Mitch’s skinny fingers are digging into his sides, knobby knees pressing against Auston’s thighs and, fuck, Auston’s arm is flying off his face and out, trying to contain Mitch. It’s difficult; he’s slim and small and fast and rolls away, right off the couch, blinking up at Auston from the floor brightly. “Mitch. Mitch.”

“Yeah,” Mitch says. He’s not listening, or even into the conversation anymore; he’s laying flat on his belly, peering underneath Auston’s couch. “Oh, you’ve got Smarties under here, bud.”

“Don’t _bud_ me,” Auston says, reaching down and raking a hand through Mitch’s hair. It’s soft, so fucking soft, and Mitch arches into the touch even as he sticks a hand underneath the couch. Probably going to collect the Smarties and eat them, the disgusting fucker.

“‘Kay,” Mitch says, and curls his arm back against his chest, cradling a bunch of Smarties. Auston watches in horror as he wipes them on the chest of his shirt before slipping them into his mouth, sharp little teeth crunching them loudly.

“That’s fucking gross,” Auston tells him, and Mitch’s eyes widen, offended.

“No!” he argues. “They have a hard shell. I cleaned the dust off!”

“Fucking gross,” Auston repeats, gripping Mitch by the forearm and pulling him off the floor, back into his lap.

———

He helps Mitch through his first heat since they were signed anyway, and it’s a lot more overwhelming than he ever thought it could be.

Mitch is openly needy, loud and clingy. He surrenders himself to his heat early on; doesn’t try to fight it or groan about it or act like he’s pissed off. He’s warm and giggly and pink-faced the day before he slips under completely, curled into Auston’s side on the plane back, and Auston can feel sweat gather at his temple.

He tries to peel himself away from Mitch to avoid too many questioning glances, but it becomes increasingly hard as the day progresses, both because he soon finds he doesn’t want to not be touching Mitch, and also because Mitch has a particular talent in simply re-gluing himself right back against Auston’s side.

“Don’t,” he says, the fifth time Auston tries valiantly to wiggle away. His voice sounds higher, reedy, and when Auston cranes his neck to stare down at him, Mitch is blinking back up at him, eyes shiny, the flush on his face disappearing underneath the stretched neck of his soft shirt. “Don’t do that, please.”

“Sorry,” Auston says immediately, and lets Mitch all but rub up on his side for the rest of the trip back to Toronto, cock straining at the flies of his pants.

He’s sweat-soaked through to his jacket by the time he finally bundles Mitch off to his apartment, and Mitch is clinging to him from behind, mouthing at the back of his neck and whining.

He smells fucking delicious. Auston’s mouth is actually, literally watering by the time he pulls Mitch inside, closing the door and locking it with shaky hands before pressing Mitch up against the wall. Mitch angles his pretty face up for a kiss, doing that almost-about-to-go-cross-eyed look he does all the time in his quest for Auston’s attention, but Auston bypasses his wet mouth, burying his nose into the warm slope where Mitch’s neck meets his shoulders.

“Aus,” Mitch whines, and Auston’s jaw goes slack, tongue licking broad and flat along Mitch’s neck. Mitch wraps his arms around Auston’s shoulders, pulling him in close, his hips humping forward, searching for anything, anything. “_Auston_.”

When Auston’s got Mitch spread out naked on his bed moments later, Mitch on his back and squirming incessantly, he’s trying to strip off his own shirt at the same time as he trails open-mouthed kisses down Mitch’s chest, nipping at the jut of his hipbone before mouthing at his cock.

Mitch pushes at his head. “No.”

Auston looks up at him incredulously, the pink head of Mitch’s cock slipping out of his mouth. “What?”

“I don’t want that,” Mitch huffs, hitching his hips up. “Inside.”

Auston’s head is spinning. His shirt is still caught around his shoulders, the material stretching beyond repair. “What?” he repeats dumbly.

“I want it inside,” Mitch begs now, his own hands slipping between his thighs. Auston’s eyes follow his movements; his shaky fingers spread his cheeks, the bubblegum pink of his tiny little hole stretching. He’s so slick it’s smeared everywhere, dripping onto the sheets, probably soaking through to the mattress. “It’s so hot inside, Aus, please, I feel like I’m burning, I need your knot, please, please, —“

Auston feels like his brain is going to fly out of his head. He stops bothering with the futile mission to strip himself, clambering to his knees and fumbling just his cock out of his sweats. He’s about to knot, he thinks frantically, so he grabs Mitch by the fleshiest parts of his hips and sinks inside him.

Mitch comes and screams, but it’s definitely a happy scream. He’s pushing down, trying to take every little inch, fingers scrabbling at his own hair and pulling. His cock pulses, jerking up off his quivering belly, shooting off all over his flushed chest, and his ass tightens and flexes around Auston so violently Auston thinks it’ll coax the come out of him.

He knots Mitch then, and then again before 10pm, and then again in the middle of the night when he wakes up and groggily sees Mitch attempt to fumble Auston’s cock inside of himself in the dark. He lays there, bones heavy against the disgusting sheets, blinking slowly as Mitch tries and fails over and over, all addled with heat and need. It’s adorable in a way, but then Mitch starts to tear up in frustration, just flattening his palms on Auston’s chest and opting to rock against him, so Auston takes pity on him. He wraps his arms around Mitch’s narrow waist, using the leverage to roll them over and work his cock inside of the sticky welcoming heat of Mitch’s body, one big hand spread over Mitch’s belly, his chest a solid wall along Mitch’s back, holding him down in place so he can’t worm himself away.

Mitch doesn’t seem to want to anyway; the whole week he stays either curled in Auston’s arms or snuggled into his sheets. It’s a far cry from him normally, always wandering around and in Auston’s line of sight one minute, toddling off to do something else the next.

Auston finds himself thinking, later, when he’s in the kitchen trying to fit together any sort of semblance of a snack for Mitch, that he really, really likes it.

He feels kind of guilty, but he can’t stop. He loves crawling into bed and having Mitch immediately reach for him, skin burning hot and damp and flushed all over. He _loves_ it when he needs to step away for a minute, whether to grab some water or another pillow, and Mitch begs him to stay, eyes bright with tears. He feels bad but he tries to ease the guilt by reminding himself that it’s just how he’s hardwired — a needy omega _needing_ him is what he was built to protect and take care of. It’s what all of his instincts are calling towards.

“You’re so good,” he murmurs against Mitch’s temple, cradling him close, and Mitch preens, bearing down on his cock. “Feel so good on the inside, Mitch, baby.”

Mitch just makes a pleased noise, pressing their mouths together and sucking Auston’s tongue into his mouth.

By the time Mitch’s heat breaks Auston’s body feels jellified. There’s no strength left in him but he still feels more content than he ever has. Mitch is more animated than he’s been for the past week beside him, nuzzling his nose against the sweaty shell of Auston’s ear and purring, mumbling his thanks against Auston’s neck later.

“Don’t gotta thank me,” Auston tells him sleepily. Mitch leans back, face affronted.

“‘Course I do,” Mitch gasps, and kisses him. He murmurs against Auston’s lips, “I have to thank an Alpha, y’know.”

And that’s the stuff that surprises Auston. No one really says that out loud anymore — it’s more of an unspoken rule, or was.

Auston has had the need to know how Mitch feels about being an omega — especially one in hockey — ever since he met him. It’s not really either appropriate or inappropriate to ask, but he was able to hold it back.

Until now.

“I love being an omega,” Mitch says. He’s trying to stick his hair up into soapy spikes as Auston watches him tiredly from the other end of the bathtub. “I don’t have to do things I don’t wanna do and people take care of me. What’s not to like?” He pauses. “Plus, heats are _sick_.”

It’s all — surprising. Omegas usually never want to be taken care of, and he’s seen the circulation of articles detailing the horrors of heat too many times to not be at least a little shocked. 

“Really?” he asks, mind racing. Maybe it’s not too surprising. Mitch _adores_ being taken care of, likes being babied and coddled; given gifts and affection. Marty got him a four foot stuffed bear from the cinema arcade a few weeks ago and his whole face lit up when he received it.

(It also sparked a bit of a tizzy in the aftermath, because unbonded omegas weren’t supposed to receive gifts like that from Alphas, but things smoothed over quickly and Mitch got to keep his teddy in the end.)

“Yeah,” Mitch says, and pats all his hair down before wading through the water, bending over Auston and bumping their noses together. He's smiling all sweet but Auston still feels like prey. “I _really _like it. You just lie there and take it and it feels _so _good ‘cause your body wants it so bad.”

Auston generally feels as if Mitch is usually unaware of how pretty he is; unaware of how people turn to stare curiously after him when he passes, all wide grins and soft hair and tapered waist. Sometimes, though, he briefly thinks that Mitch knows _exactly_ what his effect is on other people.

Right now — so close to Auston while naked, perky little ass presented in the air behind him, nose covered in the lightest smattering of freckles, eyes downcast and trained on Auston’s mouth —

Right now, Auston thinks he definitely knows.

“Thank you again,” Mitch says, breaking Auston from his thoughts. “You’re a real one, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Auston says, and closes his eyes.

———

There’s a short-lived pregnancy scare.

Mitch tells Auston, voice small, after a game against Florida, that he feels weird and can’t remember if he took his birth control before his heat hit.

Auston realizes in horror that he’d never even thought to ask Mitch if he was on birth control. Mitch is staring down at his belly the whole ride to the clinic, and he’s got a palm spread out over his lower abdomen when the nurse leads him into the examination room.

He’s not pregnant, they find out soon.

“Shit,” Willy says on a sigh, throwing his arms around Mitch and pulling him in for a hug. Auston keeps his hand on Mitch’s shoulder, rubbing comfortingly. “I was so worried.”

“Me too,” Mitch says, and Auston’s brows furrow.

He sounds — _glum_, and when Willy pulls back and heads to the change room, Auston can make out that Mitch's face looks unsure and sullen.

Auston’s about to ask him what’s wrong, but Mitch turns and follows Willy before he can say anything.

———

———

———

That was then, and this is now.

Mitch got an ankle injury during a game against Philly, and he’s been out for a little over a week by now.

A little over a week on the sidelines is all it takes to do his head in, apparently.

He’s become a downright nuisance. He’s getting to the rink early, hiding all of their gear before they arrive. While they practice he keeps trying to get onto the ice, giving Auston a mini heart attack each time.

Auston keeps a wary eye on him from the opposite side of the ice. He’s got a stick in hand now by the gate, just tapping the ice forlornly with the end and watching the guys zip back and forth in front of him. He’s in a shirt and basketball shorts, and Auston is wondering if he’s cold, if he needs a jacket, when Mitch checks his surroundings before tentatively sticking the toe of his clean runners out onto the ice again.

“Fuck,” Auston mutters. He’s crossing the ice before he can even think about it, scowling at Mitch, who pulls his foot back in and gives him a glum look. “Mitch.”

“I know,” Mitch sighs, and goes back to tapping the stick. Zach sends a puck his way, and Mitch puts it on his tape, busying himself with it for a while.

Auston can’t help but hover by Mitch after that. He doesn’t skate too far away again, sending little looks in Mitch’s direction. Whenever he glances over, Mitch is watching him in turn, averting his eyes quickly whenever they meet.

Auston frowns.

“I know you wanna play,” he says later, shoulder bumping against Mitch’s as they head to the parking lot, “but it’s dangerous right now, so just. Stop. Give it time.”

“Yeah,” Mitch says, “I know, it’s just — hard. To wait.”

“I know,” Auston says. They pause in front of Mitch’s car, and Mitch doesn’t make any movement to open the door and climb in. He stands there, staring up at Auston expectantly.

“You good?” Auston asks after a moment, the same time Mitch says, “is your rut coming up?”

“What?” Auston says, eyebrows flying up when Mitch steps in close, grabbing the lapels of Auston’s jacket and leaning in, eyes fluttering shut.

Auston’s arms come to wrap around Mitch instinctively, pressing between the wings of his back. He’s still in the basketball shorts from earlier, only having thrown a Leafs sweater on top of his shirt, and Auston frowns. It’s too cold for clothes as thin as what he’s got on.

“You can’t smell it?” Mitch asks, breaking his thoughts. “Your scent. It’s, like, gotten really heavy.”

“Oh,” Auston says, leaning back a little in embarrassment. “Like, bad?”

“No!” Mitch says quickly, inhaling again. “No, no, definitely not. It’s — it’s so good.”

“Oh,” Auston says again, voice smaller. Mitch’s lips curl into a small smile and he slides his hands under Auston’s jacket, wrapping him in a hug. He smushes his cheek against Auston’s chest. “Mitch?”

“You need me?” Mitch asks. 

Auston’s self-aware; he knows he’s not, like, the _smartest _dude on the planet. He’s a fucking hockey player. He still knows just enough to parse out that Mitch sounds hopeful. Probably just wants to be locked away in a bedroom for a few days, bent over and used; think it’ll make his time in reserve pass faster, maybe.

Maybe it will.

Auston could do that for him. Auston could easily lock Mitch away in his bedroom and not let him get away. He could make all the days blur together, until Mitch’s ankle has healed but the rest of his body feels struck-open and hollowed out.

He hesitates before holding Mitch in turn, cradling him close. “You offering?” he asks, and immediately knows it was a stupid thing to say.

Mitch snorts. “Does it look like it?”

“Sorry,” Auston mumbles, and sighs. “When do you think it’ll get bad?”

“You’re asking _me_?”

“You were the one who noticed it,” Auston points out.

Mitch makes a considering face, before pressing his nose against the crook of Auston’s neck, nuzzling in and inhaling.

He’s quiet for a minute afterwards, and Auston frowns, blinking down at him. “Mitchy?”

“Huh?” Mitch asks, blinking up at him. His cheeks are pink and he looks a little dazed. “Oh — sorry, I —“

He shakes his head, and Auston strokes a hand through the fringe falling over his forehead, concerned. He lets out a shaky laugh, meeting Auston’s eyes again. “Wow,” he says, running his tongue across the front of his teeth slowly, “it’s — I don’t know how you haven’t noticed it.”

Thinking it over now clearly, maybe Auston did wake up feeling a little hot the past few days, and maybe his skin has felt as if it’s stretched uncomfortably tight over his bones for the last week. He frowns again.

“You smell so good,” Mitch adds. He steps back, out from Auston’s hold, and gives him a once-over. “Jeez.”

“So, like, soon, huh,” Auston says. He wants to pull Mitch back into him but he thinks maybe that wouldn’t be such a good idea — Mitch is rubbing his face with his hands, and when he looks back up he still seems a little out of it. He can’t help but feel proud and sort of hot at the fact that he — his scent — is the reason Mitch seems to be having trouble putting two words together all of the sudden. “Are you okay to drive?”

“Yeah,” Mitch says, sucking in a loud breath. He finally goes to open the driver’s door. “You should probably sort that out, right? Your week off or whatever.” He gives Auston a bright smile, like he’s suddenly reverted back to his gung-ho ways. “I’ll come over tomorrow night, yeah?”

“Sounds good.”

“You can text me if you think I should swing by earlier,” Mitch continues. “But, like, I think you should be good. Until then. Tomorrow night.”

So maybe he’s still reeling a little, then. “‘Course,” Auston says, watching him carefully as he slides into his car. “Drive safe, yeah?”

“Yup,” Mitch says, and Auston heads over to his own vehicle, watching Mitch peel off towards the exit with a frown.

He can’t stop worrying about Mitch, is something he’s found out over the years. It’s never really omnipresent, but more just like constantly something toiling in the back of his mind quietly. It’s probably Alpha instinct but he can’t help but be doubled over by it once in a while when Mitch does something extremely stupid, even by his standards, like trying to get on the ice with a bad ankle, no gear, and around twenty other people zipping around him with absolutely zero desire to stop in their tracks.

(Sometimes he’s certain Mitch does it on purpose.)

Thankfully, Mitch pulls out of the lot without crashing into the guard rail, so Auston just climbs into his car and sets off home.

———

He really starts to feel it that night before bed, and when he wakes up his sheets are soaked through with sweat. He flings his comforter off and pads to the kitchen in search of the coldest water he can find, and then drops in a few ice cubes for good measure.

He’s not mad about it, or annoyed. He’s going to miss three games, and Mitch will too, so that’s definitely not ideal, but it’s not like either of them can really do anything about it. Besides, he’s even a little bit excited. It’s been a while since he’s helped Mitch through a heat, and even longer since he’s been helped through rut, and the sex he’s been having with strangers in between those two instances has been lackluster, to put it as kindly as possible.

Also, it’s _his_ rut, not Mitch’s heat. He loves helping Mitch through heat, of course, obviously, but it’s such a different dynamic, he’s found. When Mitch is heat he’s bossy and asks and takes as much as he pleases, and Auston goes with whatever he wants — whether it’s a knot or a mouth or fingers, whether he wants to push Auston down flat along the mattress and sit on his cock or sit on his face. But when it’s Auston’s _rut_, Mitch is pliant and sweet and quiet as Auston loses himself, allowing himself to be arranged and folded and put down any which way, Auston crushing his pretty face into the pillows with a firm hand and then proceeding to absolutely blow his back out.

He just thinks it’ll wring out his frustration with how the team’s been doing recently, and it’ll keep Mitch bound up in a place where he can’t go around fucking with his ankle for at least a week, and those are all good things, in his mind.

He passes the time by passing through three bottles of water, jerking off in bed, showering, jerking off in the shower, stripping his bed and changing the sheets, jerking off again, and fixing himself an extremely late breakfast.

He texts Mitch at some point to pick up food, and Mitch sends him a _sure bud !!!_ text with way too many emojis. He shows up at some point around 6pm, standing all soft in Auston’s doorway in a big Leafs hoodie and a pair of sweats. He’s holding the familiar magenta bag from Mandarin, and it smells so fucking good, and he offers it out with a broad grin.

“Hungry?” he asks, and Auston thinks _yes_, pulling him in with a firm grip by the forearm and slamming him against the wall by the door. Mitch drops the bag in surprise, fingers scrabbling for purchase on Auston, but it’s futile because he had foregone a shirt earlier, skin too hot and prickly.

The way he manhandles Mitch to his bedroom is rough, not at all like the way he’d touch Mitch during a heat, but —

Mitch is beaming, going limp in his arms, staring up at him with bright eyes after he’s finished bouncing on the bed when Auston tosses him down onto it.

“Real hungry, huh,” he asks breathlessly. Auston feels himself growl low in his throat, crawling onto the bed behind him and pinning Mitch down by the shoulders.

Mitch smells intoxicating. He strips Mitch from his thick hoodie, and then all but tears the shirt he’s got on underneath with his teeth. Mitch helps him pull the sweats off with shaky hands, and he’s not got anything on under _those_, his pink cock slapping wetly against his belly.

It’s so wet at the head, sticky and translucent, precome bubbling out the slit, but that’s not the wetness Auston’s craving, so he shoulders Mitch’s quaking thighs apart and shoves his face between his cheeks.

“Auston —“ Mitch says, short, hands flying down to pull at his hair. His thighs tighten around Auston’s head, and Auston feels trapped suddenly in all the best ways. He inhales deeply, that sugary-sweet scent of Mitch’s filling his senses and calming his frazzled mind for a second, before he licks into him.

He’s so open and so wet, and Auston just nuzzles his face closer, licks him again and again before he starts really eating him out, going until his jaw aches and he’s lost all sense of time and Mitch has gone from screaming to properly sobbing.

He’s humping his own hips down into the mattress when Mitch cries out and comes, streaking all up his chest. He slicks himself even more all over Auston’s face, thighs jerking, and Auston can feel himself beginning to knot up.

He curses, pushing himself up and over Mitch, and sinks his cock into the wet burning clutch of Mitch’s body. A full-body startle wracks over Mitch and he creams himself again, fingers digging painfully into Auston’s biceps, face screwed up, hips shoving down, back arched.

“Holy fuck,” Auston whispers, grinding deep and slow into Mitch. He drops down to his forearms, sucking on Mitch’s bottom lip before licking into his hot mouth. Mitch keens, kissing him hungrily, tight hole still rippling through the aftershocks around Auston’s thick cock. “Look so good, Mitch, fuck, I’m gonna knot you so good, baby —“

“Please,” Mitch slurs, head lolling back against the pillows as Auston starts fucking him in earnest, focused only on splitting him in half between the hips. He looks wrecked already, debauched and completely destroyed against the sheets Auston changed only mere hours ago, and he blinks his clumped lashes, tears rolling down his splotchy cheeks.

Auston’s head spins at the sight.

He knots Mitch twice the first night, one arm cradled underneath Mitch’s neck, his face buried where Mitch’s ear meets the sharp ridge of his jaw, mouthing at the damp skin. Mitch gets progressively more incoherent as the night stretches on, rolling his hips down onto Auston’s knot as he’s flooded full of come, shivering at the feeling and clutching at his belly.

“You love it so much, baby, don’t you,” Auston slurs into his neck, bringing his own hand to rub over the soft pouch of Mitch’s belly, and Mitch nods furiously, tangling their fingers together, legs hooking around Auston’s hips, drawing him in impossibly close.

“So much,” Mitch whispers, and kisses Auston.

———

That’s another way Mitch interacts with his dynamic that’s different from all the other omegas Auston has ever been with in the past.

Auston’s bent over omegas and fucked them the way they demanded and they always resented ever admitting how much they liked it, how much they liked any bit of it.

Mitch is the opposite. He can always readily admit when it feels good to be touched, to be filled, to be knotted. He never feels shame in asking for it, and his true desires never have to be coaxed out, whether gently or otherwise. He’ll press himself against Auston’s side, or tuck himself underneath his arm, or crawl into his lap. He’ll mouth at Auston’s jaw, or nuzzle his face into Auston’s chest, or twine their fingers together.

Then he’ll ask Auston to knot him, over and over, until he can’t walk, can’t think, can’t breathe. He’ll even tack on a please, as if it’s some sort of chore for Auston, and not something he prizes. Being completely honest — if it were up to him, he’d keep Mitch in his room, in his bed, underneath his sheets, behind lock and key for the rest of eternity, warm and lax and always ready to take his knot.

But he can’t have that, so he always just settles for gripping Mitch’s hips and giving him exactly what he wants, exactly what he asks for.

“Aus,” Mitch gasps now. He’s sprawled on his back, propped up on his elbows and staring down the length of his sticky body, watching Auston’s cock stroke in and out of him. “It’s so — wet.”

“What?” Auston asks, dizzy. He’s on his knees, keeping Mitch spread open by holding his knees against his hips with firm hands, chasing his release with the help of Mitch’s body. Everything is fucking wet, right now — their skin, the sheets, the air.

“Your dick,” Mitch says, and Auston has to blink the sweat out of his eyes so he can properly watch Mitch reach a hand down between their bodies. His fingers spread over the visible length of Auston’s cock, running over the hot taut skin, and when Auston pulls back out nearly all the way, Mitch gasps. “Lookit — how wet it is.”

He’s right. It’s practically shimmering in slick, and some of it is dripping off his length and puddling on the sheets. The sight of it just makes Auston hiss and slam back in, hitching Mitch right up the bed, screwing little _uh-uh-uh_ noises out of him as he flails to grab something he can hold on to.

“So wet inside of you, baby,” Auston groans, grinding his hips in, trying to just — roll the fat length of his cock all over the clutch of Mitch’s pulsing hole, bruise him from inside out. “Making me a mess, getting everything dirty.”

“Nnn,” Mitch says, eyes squeezing shut. He collapses back down on the bed, both hands sliding between his thighs, fingers parting around the base of Auston’s cock. They get slicker each time Auston slides back out, until Mitch’s hands look like they’ve been glazed in sugar all the way up to his wrists, and even on the insides and tops of his thighs. “Auston —“

“Yeah, baby,” Auston pants, and Mitch holds one sticky hand out, his own slick sliding down his wrists, pulling him down for a kiss as Auston knots him.

———

Four days in — a little halfway through Auston’s rut — Mitch falls into heat.

It’s common for bonded pairs to have their heats and ruts sync up, and not unheard of for even unbonded Alphas and omegas to have them synced up too, especially if they partner up during. It’s still a little shocking to Auston anyway, when he’s woken up in the middle of the night not by his own urges burning hot in his veins but by Mitch, three fingers deep in his own ass, pink mouth stretched tight around Auston’s cock.

“Mitch?” Auston asks, throat thick and voice groggy. He pushes himself up on his elbows, wiping the sleep from his eyes, blinking down at Mitch.

Mitch moans around his cock before pulling off, saliva connecting the fat head to his mouth. “Auston,” he pants, “it’s — I think —“

He’s sitting up on his knees, one arm twisted behind himself, pistoning his fingers in and out of his ass, but he chokes up around his words and collapses face-forward back into Auston’s crotch, mouthing at his cock and whining low in his throat.

“Fuck,” Auston breathes. Mitch laps at the head before sucking it back into his mouth, staring up at Auston with glassy eyes. “Are you —?”

“Fuck me,” Mitch slurs around his dick.

Mitch ends up on his belly, ass up in the air with Auston’s hands digging into his hips as he fucks him from behind. Auston can barely see from the sweat dripping from his lashes, the hair slipping over his eyes, but he focuses on Mitch clutching a pillow against his face, moaning happily each time Auston sinks inside him again, rolling his hips back. Auston flattens a palm against the small of his back, pushing him flat against the bed, drops his weight down, and just _drives_ him into the mattress.

“Auston,” Mitch cries out, crushing his mouth into the pillow. It’s _Auston’s_ pillow, he realizes, and Mitch is sucking and licking and nuzzling his nose in the material of it dazedly. Auston growls, sucks a bruise into the pale column of Mitch’s neck. “Auston, Auston, please —“

“Please what,” he murmurs against Mitch’s skin. He can feel his knot begin to swell.

“Bite me,” Mitch breathes, and that’s — that’s it, Auston comes so hard he whites out for a millisecond, and he doesn’t bite Mitch because he knows better than that, but the mere _thought_ of it — of claiming this beautiful boy in the throes of his heat, making him _his _once and for all — makes the Alpha inside of him swell with pride.

———

His rut breaks three days later — along with it, the clouds in his head — but that’s when the exhaustion creeps in; it doesn’t hit you while it’s all happening, but when you’re dropping out and feeling more like yourself again.

He’s not sure how he helps Mitch — who’s still utterly ravenous — through the rest of his heat, but he manages it somehow, and by Wednesday of the next week they’re finally waking up and crawling out of bed to drag themselves to the kitchen without fucking beforehand.

“Well,” Mitch says thoughtfully, toast smeared with butter and fig jam in one hand, a mug of chocolate milk in the other, because he’s extremely strange like that, “that was intense.”

“Bit of an understatement,” Auston mumbles into his coffee. He’s still having trouble keeping his eyes open.

He’s also having trouble keeping himself from reaching over around the island and pulling Mitch into his side.

Mitch smells exactly how all the informative books and television shows said omegas would smell; like sweet vanilla and cinnamon. Auston didn’t know how intoxicating it could be until he had his mouth buried against Mitch’s hole for the first time all those years ago.

His scent is overwhelming now, clinging to his warm flushed skin after nearly a week and a half straight of being locked away. His soft hair hangs over his eyes now as he takes a sip from his mug, lashes curling against his cheeks.

Auston sucks in a breath.

“You okay?” Mitch asks, glancing over at him. He looks concerned.

“Yeah, absolutely,” Auston says, shaking his head. He then places his mug back on the tabletop and clears his throat. “Just wanted to say, y’know, thanks.”

“For what?”

Auston snorts. “You know what for, man.”

“Yeah,” Mitch says, and smirks.

Dumbass.

They slump back into silence; Auston blows on his coffee and Mitch polishes off the rest of his toast before he pipes up again.

“You didn’t bite me,” he says, voice matter-of-fact. He’s holding his mug of chocolate milk underneath his chin with both hands, knuckles pink, looking very much like the kitten that got the cream. “You’re such a good guy, huh?”

Auston splutters. Mitch takes a sip of his milk.

“Well,” Auston says, clearing his throat awkwardly, “you know, we’re not — mates.”

He doesn’t say _yet_, but it hangs in the air.

“True,” Mitch says, setting his mug on the tabletop. “You should probably get to that soon, right?”

It takes a moment for his words to sink in. “Huh?” Auston asks dumbly.

Mitch waves a hand in the air at random, blinking fast, gaping at Auston. “I’m just, like, _waiting_ here, dude,” he says, and Auston squints at him. “Just been waiting since, like — for three years.”

“Waiting for _what_?”

“For you to start _courting_ me,” Mitch says dramatically.

Auston drops his coffee.

———

The thing is, Auston’s always intended to claim Mitch one day.

They’ve never explicitly talked about it, or even implicitly, but it — it hangs in the air. They sleep with other people on the road and during the offseason, but it’s not the same. Auston stopped sleeping with omegas that weren’t Mitch around a year ago and Mitch doesn’t talk about those Alphas in any delightful terms.

“They just don’t make me feel like an omega, y’know?” he had clarified to Auston one evening long ago, when Auston had finally summoned the courage to ask.

“And I do?” Auston had snorted.

Mitch just stared at him with an odd sort of intensity that had made Auston want to shrink away. “Yes.”

So if there had been any remaining doubt lingering in Auston’s mind at that point — which there wasn’t — regarding whether he and Mitch would bond and mate for life sometime in the future, it would’ve been completely wiped out then. He couldn’t say he understood in that moment, what Mitch meant, had just gaped in surprise at Mitch in response, but he often couldn’t understand Mitch, anyway. It wasn’t out of the ordinary; Mitch is a weird Canadian boy with a kind smile and sharp teeth who torpedoed through Auston’s original understanding of everything. He just had to have faith that he’d figure the kid all out one day.

He just hadn’t expected that one day to happen when he was twenty-two.

“Mitch,” he says, exasperated, and jiggles the doorknob to the ensuite. It doesn’t budge, similar to how it hasn’t budged for the last ten minutes. “Open the door.”

He thinks, fleetingly, of busting it off the hinges. He thinks Mitch would really like that.

“A real Alpha,” Mitch would say approvingly, and then he’d let Auston have him right there on the floor.

“You don’t love me!” Mitch yells from the other side, voice muffled. Auston hears something drop the floor loudly. He bangs his forehead against the door.

“Yes I do,” Auston yells back. “I just — shit — I dunno, fuck, baby. Open the door, please, we can talk about this —“

“Open it yourself!” Mitch shouts.

Auston kicks the door open. Mitch yelps and spins around. He’s got one of Auston’s shower towels wrapped around his shoulders.

Auston can smell that he’s aroused. He politely ignores it.

“Wow,” Mitch whispers, awed. He’s definitely a little wet.

Auston can’t ignore it.

They fuck, and then they sit on the sofa in Auston’s living room and talk it out like adults.

“I want you to buy me things,” Mitch explains. “And then, like, love me forever.”

So not _exactly_ like adults, but definitely sort of getting there.

“Yeah,” Auston says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s — yeah. Um. Me too?”

“So why not court me?” Mitch prompts, sitting forward on the couch. “I don’t understand.”

Auston shrugs a little helplessly. “I thought we’d get serious, like, later.”

“When is _later_? I’m not getting any younger.” Mitch waves at himself. “I’ve peaked. I could be on the pill now and still get knocked up, that’s how much I’ve peaked. Fertile as hell, cute as shit.”

Auston’s mouth says, “don’t even _joke_ about pregnancy,” the same time his blood goes hot at the thought. He shakes his head. “You’re too young.”

Mitch stares at him. “I’m older than you.”

Auston stares back. “Okay, well, you don’t act like it.”

Mitch tries to lock himself in the bathroom again, but the door is hanging off its hinges, so he locks himself in Auston’s bedroom this time.

“Mitch,” Auston says. He can hear ominous noises through the door. Mitch is definitely tearing his closet up. Brat.

He jiggles the doorknob. It doesn’t move, and it doesn’t seem like Mitch plans on opening up any time soon, either.

Auston can’t exactly just break down every single door in his apartment, so he clears his throat. “Mitch,” he says again, lower.

The noises stop. “Don’t —“ Mitch calls out after a moment, voice small, “— don’t use your Alpha voice on me, Aus.”

Auston would stop, but he can smell Mitch’s scent spike suddenly. Sweeter, warmer. “Open the door,” Auston continues, and he sucks in a breath, palms pressed against the door.

There’s silence, and then shuffling, and then the door opens just a crack. Mitch peeks through the door, eyes narrowed. “Asshole,” he mutters.

“Let me in,” Auston says, voice normal. Mitch huffs and opens the door wider, allowing Auston to slip into the room, pressing Mitch up against the wall and caging him in with an arm each side of his head.

“I’ll court you,” he says, trying to catch Mitch’s eyes. Mitch turns his gaze downwards, staring at the floor, and Auston grasps him by the chin, forcing him to look up. “You hear me?”

“Yeah,” Mitch says. “Kind of hard not to hear you, ‘cause you’re right in my face.”

Mitch being dickish isn’t anything new; it goes hand-in-hand with him often being so obnoxiously annoying Auston wants to fly out of his own skin. He never does anything about it though, except the one time — the _one_ time Mitch just wouldn’t stop bouncing around their hotel room after a game, digging into Auston’s suitcase and pressing his face into all his goddamn clothes, and then wiggling into Auston’s lap with one of his sweaters hanging only by the hood off his head. He was babbling about nothing in particular, and he wouldn’t stop, and Auston was aching and exhausted, so he put Mitch down the fastest way he knew how.

He’d grabbed Mitch by the scruff of his neck, manhandling him over his knee, pressing Mitch’s face into the mattress and holding it there with one hand. Auston had pulled Mitch’s shorts down and spanked him until his ass was cherry red and his face was hot and wet with tears. Mitch slept like the dead, afterwards.

(The spanking ranks high up on his Favourite list, between pinning Mitch on his cock and promising to fill him with his children, and the one time Mitch slipped up and called Auston _Daddy_.)

He’s thinking about the spanking now, because Mitch is still squirming now even against the wall of his body, huffing and puffing, sending him brief little looks before his eyes dart away again to the floor.

“Behave,” Auston murmurs, and Mitch rolls his eyes but goes still underneath Auston’s hands anyway, body sagging, the tightness in his shoulders melting away. “Who’s going to want a bratty omega, huh?”

“You,” Mitch says.

He’s not wrong.

“I’m gonna court you, baby,” he continues, mind fuzzy. Mitch loops his arms around his neck, pulling him down to his height. “Gonna get you all those things you want, and then I’m gonna put a ring on it and lock it down.”

“You better,” Mitch says. He sounds a little breathless, a little giddy. God, Auston wonders how long he’s been yearning for this, how long he’s been dreaming about it, how long he’s been made to wait for it. Auston wonders how he’ll forgive himself for it all. “I want a dog.”

“You’ll get a dog,” Auston agrees.

“And a Porsche.”

“Of course.”

“And a Lambo.”

“Whatever you want.”

“And everything else that’s ever existed,” Mitch continues. His eyes are crinkling with how wide he’s grinning. “And you.”

“You got it,” Auston whispers, almost equally as breathless, and Mitch drags him down.

———

There was a story Mitch told Auston one time, a couple years ago, when they hadn’t started hooking up regularly and he was constantly fishing for Auston’s attention. Halloween was coming up soon and they were at a Spirit store, browsing through various iterations of Michael Myers’ masks.

“Do you like the one covered in blood more,” Auston said, rubbing the plastic material, “or just the classic one?”

“One covered in blood,” Mitch said disinterestedly.

"What are you going as this year?" Auston had asked, fitting the blood-covered mask over his face.

Mitch shrugged. "I dunno yet."

"What do you usually, like, go as?" Auston snapped the elastic behind his head, adjusting the mask to settle over the bridge of his nose. "Funny stuff?"

He'd assumed Mitch inclined towards more slapstick costumes, but Mitch had lit up at that, glancing around before leaning in close, like he was about to tell Auston a secret.

"In grade ten," he had said, voice low and conspiratory, "I had the best costume."

Auston raised an eyebrow, as if Mitch could've seen it. "What was it?"

"Guess."

"I dunno. Superhero?"

"No."

Auston scrunched his nose. "Uh, fuckin’ … Batman?"

"Pretty sure Batman's a superhero, bud."

Auston shrugged and turned back to the horror display, studying the wall to find Michael's knife. "Just tell me, man."

"An angel," Mitch said, and Auston's attention had slid from the knife right back to Mitch. "Me and Dylan and some others, actually. Connor."

Auston enjoyed the idea of Mitch dressed as an angel a lot. He did _not_ fucking enjoy the idea of the perpetually awkward Strome or McDavid, fucking _McDavid_, dressed as angels along with him. "Um," he said.

"But if we're being totally honest, Stromer looked bad. Davo looked worse. But I was pretty cute. I was wearing this, like, this really thin white tank top, and a tulle skirt, and really fluffy white wings." He adjusted his snapback and then motioned over his shoulders. "Small but really glittery. I was real cute."

Auston was sweating underneath the mask at this point. "I bet you were."

Mitch just leaned in closer then. "My brother was taking us to a party at the dorms," he continued. "One of his friends, real hot older Alpha dude whose name I can't remember, he told me I looked just like a real angel."

At that point, Auston knew where it was going.

“Told me not to tell Stromer and the others, but they kind of looked like hot messes.”

Auston imagined, in vivid and violent detail, some older Alpha pushing his best friend’s omega kid brother against the wall while all he wore was some tulle and glitter. Imagined the Alpha ducking in close, mouth pressed to Mitch’s pinked ear, telling him how pretty he was in his little skirt and his little wings, how much sweeter he looked than the other boys. Imagined him running his big hands up Mitch’s side, rucking up the thin material so the tops of Mitch’s creamy pale thighs came into view, and imagined Mitch grinning bright and innocent before slipping away from underneath him, probably to go bother Strome and McDavid by bragging their heads off.

Auston blinked behind the mask.

Mitch smiled.

He bought the mask and then fucked Mitch in the back of his car. Afterwards, Mitch pulled the mask out of the plastic bag and pulled it on, eyes sparkling through the narrow slits. Auston had just ignored him, staring out the windshield, the pit of his stomach hot at the thought of Mitch in a delicate white slip, angel wings and glitter makeup.

Mitch has mostly stopped trying to get him jealous three years down the line, only opting for it when he’s in a particularly bratty mood.

Like now.

“You can stop rubbing up against him now,” Auston hisses into Mitch’s ear the third time Mitch grabs Tavares by the shoulders, crowing at him for whatever reason. John just gives him a placating look in return each time, but it hasn’t deterred Mitch yet; he continues, each time shooting off a quick glance in Auston’s direction that really isn’t as subtle as he seems to think it is. “He’s mated. He’s got a _kid_.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mitch says, pulling his sweater over his head. His hair is still damp from his post-game shower, dark and curling at the sweet nape of his neck, peeking out from underneath his pink ears.

Auston pinches his ass. He yelps. Willy glances at them curiously from the other side of the room, and Auston gives him a bland smile. Willy grins blindingly in turn before turning back to Freddie.

“Let me take you home,” Auston mumbles, turning back to his stall. Mitch doesn’t respond, but he smells satisfied all of the sudden, and Auston realizes that that’s what he was phishing for the whole damn evening.

He’s tired but not tired enough to take Mitch to his place and fuck his brains out in retaliation, or so he thinks; by the time he unlocks his front door, Mitch clinging to his side, he suddenly just wants to put his tongue in Mitch’s mouth lazily for ten minutes tops before crashing.

“Mitch,” he murmurs, and it’s against Mitch’s mouth, because suddenly he’s being kissed and nudged down the hallway to his bedroom at the same time. “Mitch. Baby.”

“Huh,” Mitch says, not like an answer but more like a statement. He leans back, fingers sliding underneath the lapels of Auston’s suit, pulling until the buttons pop.

Well then.

He lays back on the bed as Mitch unzips his trousers, fumbling his cock out before cramming as much of it into his mouth as he can. Auston lays there, chin pressed against his chest, hand stroking through Mitch’s soft hair, watching Mitch gag on his dick for a few minutes before he feels his orgasm build.

He pulls at Mitch’s hair gently as a warning and Mitch pulls off, face flushed and mouth dripping. He grunts, frowns, and Mitch gives him an apologetic smile.

“Not in my mouth,” he explains, “want you in me.”

Auston grunts again, head flopping back against the pillows. Mitch crawls over him and kisses his jaw, licking down lower, and he stares at the ceiling before clearing his throat. “Think you’re gonna have to ride it.”

Mitch leans back immediately, frowning deeply. “What?” he says, trying to catch Auston’s gaze. “Why?”

“I’m useless,” Auston informs him. “Too tired. Can’t move.”

“Aus-_ton_,” Mitch whines, because he’s truly the laziest fucker ever when it comes to sex. He can’t stop moving regularly, but when he’s in bed, he prefers to go pliant, allowing Auston to manhandle him any which way before fucking into him while he just clings a pillow to his chest and moans loudly. “Noooo.”

“Yeeessss,” Auston mumbles back, and he’s honestly even too tired to get the elongated word out. He sinks into the mattress, eyelids heavy, and Mitch just huffs before climbing off the bed to strip himself.

When he straddles Auston’s thighs he’s naked this time. Mitch ignores him as he grasps Auston’s sticky cock again.

“No,” he says, when Auston tries to settle his hands palm-down on the pale tops of Mitch’s thighs. “I’m mad at you. No touching.”

“Brat,” Auston mumbles. Mitch raises up on his knees, snubbing the head of Auston’s cock against his wet hole before sinking down.

It always manages to take Auston’s breath away a little, cramming his cock inside the small hot space inside Mitch that’s always yearning for it, no matter how many times they do this. He tamps down the urge to squirm underneath Mitch incessantly as Mitch clutches at his own belly, eyes fluttering shut, rolling his hips and rocking forward a little, not exactly riding him proper-like. He’s just trying to grind the head of Auston’s cock against his prostate probably, make himself come from that stimulation and nothing else. Will probably roll right off of Auston afterwards and fall asleep with Auston’s dick red and heavy against his navel.

He’s not exactly wrong — Mitch ends up coming on Auston’s cock and flopping against his chest. Auston runs a hand through Mitch’s damp hair, kissing his cheeks, and Mitch nuzzles into him before promptly falling asleep, Auston’s hard dick still tucked up inside him.

“Mitch,” Auston mumbles, and Mitch loosely slaps at his face, grumbling before going quiet again. “Oh, come on.”

He gingerly rolls them over, pulling out of Mitch and jerking himself off quietly with short tight strokes, one hand arranging Mitch’s legs open guiltily so he can stare at his dripping hole while he gets himself off. 

Afterwards, he sinks into the bed beside Mitch, eyelids heavy. They’re both dirty and he’s still pretty much fully dressed, but there’s not an ounce of energy left inside of him.

He drifts off thinking about Mitch chasing after John the whole day in an attempt to grab Auston’s attention. Thinks about how he can court Mitch in turn, in an attempt to grab all of Mitch’s attention forever; how he can make sure Mitch never looks at another Alpha ever again, sated with the knowledge that he has one of his own who will love and cherish him forever.

———

Auston starts small.

He wants to go all out and buy one of those ridiculous mating necklaces from the boutiques downtown Toronto, but he holds himself back somehow. Instead he buys Mitch a box of the new Timbit cereal.

Mitch stares at it once it’s been presented. “Huh?”

“You mentioned it a few weeks ago,” Auston says. He’d been pretty proud of it at first; saw it on the shelf at the store when he had run in to grab some fresh pre-cut fruit platters. He thought Mitch would be stoked.

“Yeah,” Mitch says, and flips it around, squinting at the nutritional contents. “So this is, like, your first courting gift?”

“Um?” Auston says, catching the look on Mitch’s face. It’s not good.

“Uh, no,” he lies. “I just — just saw that and thought of you.”

Mitch’s shoulders relax. Auston hadn’t realized they were tense in the first place. “Dope. Thanks, man.”

Mitch comes over the next day, and there’s a big box resting on one of the couches in Auston’s living room. Mitch sits in Auston’s kitchen on one of the barstools, fingers fidgeting with the cream soda pop Auston sets in front of him — a disgusting flavour Auston would never have on hand, if he didn’t know that Mitch would probably die for cream soda pop — and he keeps glancing back at the box with very indiscreet looks over his shoulder.

“It’s for you,” Auston says exasperatedly the tenth time Mitch cranes his neck back for a peek, and he startles as Mitch flies off his stool, fast enough the chair totters in his wake, flinging himself onto the couch and pulling the box half in his lap.

“It smells so _good_,” he sing-songs, tearing at the bad tape job and plunging his hands inside. Auston watches from the kitchen, nervous, categorizing each emotion that flickers over Mitch’s face.

He’s pretty sure Mitch is elated. “Oh,” he gasps, lifting the sweater out before burying his face into the soft worn material. “Oh my _god_.”

“Good?” Auston asks, finally summoning the courage to make his way around the island and into the living room. Mitch inhales deeply, rubbing his nose into the material, before looking up. His cheeks are red and his eyes are a little glassy.

“Smells like my Alpha,” he says, a little dreamy, and Auston feels as if he’s gotten punched in the throat.

That was the goal, anyway. Auston had debated buying a new sweater for the gift before opting for one of his well-loved and well-used older ones; thought that would make it more personal, the gift. He wore it around his place for a couple of days, napped in it too, and left it buried underneath his comforter when he was out. He really stressed over it, basically.

It seems as if it was all worth it. Mitch is stripping out of his windbreaker, the material crinkling loudly as he tosses it to the floor before promptly pulling Auston’s sweater over his head. His hair is matted to his face as he smooths the material down over his chest, his hips, and Auston is both floored and a little turned on at the resulting sight — it’s much too baggy at the arms and waist, the sleeves slip over Mitch’s fingers, and the neckline hangs.

“Fuck,” he croaks. Mitch doesn’t seem to notice; is too busy rubbing his palms against his chest, pulling the sleeves down and bringing them to his mouth to bite at.

“See?” he mumbles into his palm, and Auston snaps back to attention. “S’not so hard to find nice things for me, is it?” He continues before Auston can reply, “much better than _cereal_.”

Auston splutters. “That wasn’t — that wasn’t a courting gift, Marns.”

Mitch grins at him. He looks so beautiful; clean and pure, startlingly happy with one of Auston’s old sweaters. “Liar.”

Auston had, like, a plan at one point. It wasn’t a good, strong, cohesive plan at all, more just a whole bunch of scattered little question marks in the notes app of his phone. He’d go to Square One and see something that he thought Mitch might like, snap a photo, and write it down. He had a few things he really wanted to buy for Mitch; wanted to drag out courting him for a while, spoil him with so much lavish garbage and then bend him over and fuck his brains out after each gift, until Mitch’s whole world revolved around him and him only.

He had a plan, and now, Mitch staring up at him from the couch, swaddled in his clothes and his scent, looking blissful and ripe for the taking, his plan is falling apart in his mind faster than he’s getting hard.

Mitch lets Auston carry him to the bedroom easily, and he’s smirking as he’s laid out on the bed, but his smirk melts quickly into something prettier, Auston bent over him and fucking into him with deep, long strokes that make him shoot off between their bodies so quickly and so hard Auston thinks he’s briefly passed out.

He hasn’t; his eyes roll back as Auston stills inside him, grinding in deep, until he’s shaking and shaking, body tight like a vice around Auston’s cock, milking Auston’s orgasm out of him until Auston feels as if he’s been wrung of every drop.

Later, after they showered and ordered takeout, after they’ve eaten and cleaned up the dishes, when they’re cuddled together on the couch with the television muted on the news and Mitch with Auston’s sweater clutched to his face, Auston brushes Mitch’s fringe from his face and watches Mitch’s eyes twinkle in response.

“I was thinking,” he starts.

“Oh no,” Mitch says immediately. He’s smiling so hard it makes Auston’s heart hurt with fondness.

“Shut up,” Auston says, and then, “how about we just skip courting?” Mitch raises an eyebrow, and Auston leans in close, lips brushing over the curve of Mitch’s neck. He’s going to have to bring out all the stops. “Go straight to mates?”

Mitch exhales loudly, and Auston smiles against his skin. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Auston feels his smile grow wider, enough to match Mitch’s own. He licks Mitch’s neck, holds him tight against his chest, and closes his eyes.

———

———

———

Mitch is trying to get on the ice.

Auston watches him from the other side of the rink, stick gripped firmly in his hands. He can’t seem to move his feet and skate over to the other side, mostly because he may be in denial; he thinks that Mitch isn’t _seriously_ going to go through with it.

Probably.

Mitch gets a foot on the ice, and Auston doesn’t know how but he’s halfway across the rink in a second, stick tapping loudly. Mitch looks up and withdraws his leg guiltily.

“I’m just _bored_,” he whines as Auston clambers into his space, bundling him away from the rink and towards the bench. He’s only wearing a pair of sweats and a thin shirt; Auston grabs the jacket he’d been wearing earlier that’s fallen onto the sticky ground and drapes it over his shoulders with a frown.

“Not an excuse,” he says.

“I feel like,” Mitch says, pulling the jacket tighter around himself as Auston settles on the space of bench beside him, “that I should be, like, able to at least skate around.”

“No,” Auston says, and pulls his gloves off so he can rake a hand through his hair, giving Mitch a sympathetic look. It’s all he’s getting. “What if you fell?”

Mitch doesn’t say anything in response, just purses his lips and stares back out at the ice. He doesn’t have any rebuttal; it’s not just _him_, now.

He may not say anything, but he still settles his hands on his stomach, fingers curling inward. Whatever anger Auston may have had dissipates immediately at the sight. There’s no sign through Mitch’s shirt, but when Auston strips him out of his clothes later that night and lays him open on their bed, he can see the skin begin to stretch, can see Mitch’s abs begin to go soft.

“I know you’re bored,” he says, and kisses Mitch’s hip. Mitch sighs, hands coming to tangle in his hair, gentle, just resting, “but you have to be careful.”

“Not really,” Mitch says. Auston nips at his navel, and his voice comes out a little unsteadily. “You’re always watching me; you can just stop me before I do something dumb.”

Auston glances up Mitch’s soft, smooth body and gives him a flat look. “If that’s how we do this,” he says, low, “I’ll probably die of stress before the baby’s here.”

“If that’s how it’s gotta be,” Mitch sighs dramatically, and Auston knows he’s just being an annoying little shit, but he can sense how Mitch’s scent changes at the offhanded remark — his Alpha dying. He smiles at his boy, pushing himself up to crawl over Mitch’s body and lay a kiss to each corner of his mouth.

“You know I’ll always be watching you,” he mumbles into the warm skin there, and Mitch giggles, clutching at Auston’s shoulders, “always stop you from doing something dumb.”

Mitch pulls him in for a kiss after that, deep and slow, cupping Auston’s cheeks and sucking his tongue into his mouth. When they break apart, Auston rests their foreheads together and revels in breathing each other in for a moment.

The moment doesn’t last long. It never does, with Mitch.

“And I’ll always stop you from doing dumb things, too,” Mitch says solemnly. Auston snorts.

“Your job is _way_ easier than mine.”

“Are you implying I do more dumb shit than you?”

“I’m not _implying_, baby, I’ll tell you right now that you do more dumb shit, on average, than me.”

Mitch scoffs, fingers playing with the hairs curling darkly at the nape of Auston’s neck. “That’s not how you should speak to your pregnant omega.”

Auston kisses his forehead. “Sorry,” he says, and Mitch pouts. “Here. Let me make it up to you.”

He slides back down Mitch’s body, hitching Mitch’s legs over his shoulders before sucking him off. Mitch comes down his throat with a cry, and he’s sleepy and sated afterwards. Auston could let him fall asleep now, hold his warm body in his arms as he drifts off as well, but he decides to roll Mitch’s pliant body over onto his front, hitching his ass up and burying his tongue against Mitch’s hole.

Mitch comes again, creaming himself and the sheets, sobbing and pushing his ass back against Auston’s face. Auston’s mouth and chin and nose are covered in slick but he doesn’t mind, just wipes at it the best he can with his palm and wrist before licking the rest away. Mitch is watching him with bleary eyes, panting softly against his pillow, body twitching through aftershocks.

“Good?” Auston asks, holding him close and licking at his tears. Mitch gives him a watery look, pouting deeply. Auston snorts.

They exchange lazy kisses for a while, and just when Auston thinks Mitch is about to drop off, he makes a small noise, nuzzling his nose against Auston’s jaw.

“I like being pregnant,” he says, quiet, and Auston grins at the ceiling.

“You’re barely pregnant, Mitch.”

“Ugh. I know I’m _gonna _like it, then. I can feel it.”

“I’m glad. And I’ll be there with you, right? Every step of the way.”

“I know,” Mitch says. “I just wanted to remind you that I love it.”

“Why?”

“Don’t want you to think I’m actually bored. M’not. Just like bothering you.”

“Yeah,” Auston says, fingers digging into Mitch’s skin. Mitch giggles. “Your favourite hobby.”

“For real though,” Mitch says, batting Auston’s hand away. “I love it. I love being pregnant, I love being your omega, I love it all, so much.”

Auston looks from the ceiling then to Mitch, their eyes locking. He takes Mitch in; this beautiful, outgoing, sunshiney boy he’s got all for himself, the love of his life, the one he’ll raise a family with, the one he’ll spend the rest of his years with.

He leans in, kisses him once more, says, “I know you do,” and means it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i've had major writer's block recently, and it'd gotten very frustrating, so i decided to default to something that comes easily to me: nasty alpha!matts/omega!mitch porn. case in point: i wrote 3.3k words in half a day, compared to the nothing i've cranked out in the last 2 months.
> 
> this is very very porny/gross so warning for that, and also daddy kink/heavy mpreg. it's also kinda fluffy. hopefully it's enjoyable!!

Mitch is five months along into his pregnancy and, to both Auston's surprise and disappointment, he's not any less energetic than he's ever been.

"We should start the garden tomorrow," he says now. He's been pacing the living room floor back and forth for half an hour now, tossing a hacky sack from hand to hand. "I was on Rona's website last night and they're already selling mulch now."

"It's April, it's too early," Auston tells him absentmindedly. Truthfully his family would probably start tending to the garden a little earlier than April, but that's back in Arizona. Toronto is still grey. He's not certain Toronto ever stops...being grey.

"Do you think we should paint the walls?" Mitch asks suddenly, pausing and staring at the space behind Auston's head. Auston gives him a wary look. "I think the white is so boring. What about blue?" He spreads his arms. "Wait, what about Leafs blue?"

Auston's laying sidelong on the couch, trying to watch whatever shitty Netflix original is on the television, and Mitch is now blocking his view. His hands are on his hips, fringe falling into his pink face, lips pursed as he stares Auston down, awaiting a reply. There's a small bump stretching the front of his shirt and he looks a little like a disgruntled penguin.

"How about," he says slowly, spreading an arm, "you come lay down and we can cuddle?" He doesn't say the _and maybe you can let me finger you a little bit to calm you down?_ part out loud, just hopes that Mitch can read between the lines. Now that Mitch has paused his pacing, Auston can scent how sweet he smells, and it's stirring something inside of him.

Mitch has never been one for reading between the lines though. "Matts," he sighs, crossing his arms over his belly, "I just ate, like, an entire pack of sour ju jubes."

Auston squints up at him. "Okay?"

"And they were really good, but also, well, I just don't think I'm gonna be able to lay down ever again? Or sit, even.”

Auston pinches the bridge of his nose.

He manages to pin Mitch down later in the evening, in bed, fucking him long and hard until he's not blabbering out the first thought that flits into his pretty little head anymore; he's only whimpering, clawing at the sheets, pushing his greedy little ass back onto Auston's cock until he's knotted full, until he's drowsy and sleepy in Auston's arms.

Auston stays inside him even after his knot goes down. Mitch likes being spooned with a cock tucked up inside him, occasionally squirming and clenching, moaning softly when Auston's cock twitches inside him. 

Mitch doesn't even have to ask now; Auston keeps them together as he arranges them carefully on their sides, burying his mouth against the bond mark on Mitch's neck, one hand cupping Mitch's belly.

"Can you fuck me again tonight?" Mitch mumbles. Auston lifts his head, curious, and finds that Mitch has two of his own fingers buried in his mouth. Auston can't help the low groan he lets out, hitching his hips up, sinking impossibly deeper into Mitch, who moans.

"You're about to fall asleep, baby," he murmurs, moving his hand from Mitch's belly to press two of his own fingers into Mitch's hot mouth, stretching his lips.

"S'okay," Mitch slurs, tonguing at Auston's fingers. "Like it."

Auston's cock twitches again. Mitch clenches. "Even if you're sleeping?" he asks dubiously, curling his fingers against Mitch's tongue. It doesn't really give Mitch the opportunity to answer so he just nods desperately, clutching at Auston's wrist, panting hard.

"Like it," he repeats, on a mostly unintelligible whine, going tight around Auston and coming untouched on his belly again.

"Okay," Auston murmurs, dropping a kiss to Mitch's shoulder and pulling out after Mitch is done coming, hole fluttering. He rolls Mitch onto his back again and pushes back in, hitching Mitch's legs over his shoulders and fucking into him easily, the copious amounts of slick and come easing the way.

Mitch really has dozed off by the time Auston knots him again, lips parted, lashes fanning over his cheek, breathing softly. Auston pulls out of him once his knot has gone down, pressing two fingers into Mitch's soft wet mouth again, watching him suck on them unconsciously.

His cock twitches again and he groans.

His sex drive has gotten a lot more intense ever since he got Mitch knocked up, but it's not anything close to how hungry for it Mitch seems to be at all hours of the day. Auston wakes up the next morning to slick sounds, lifting his head and blinking blearily up at Mitch.

"Mornin'," Mitch chirps, absolutely shamelessly, hitching a leg up and twisting his fingers inside of himself. "Gimme a hand?"

"Fuck," Auston mumbles. He can barely lift his head from his pillow he's so exhausted, but he still manages to fit himself between Mitch's legs, licking at his knuckles where his rim has stretched around them. Mitch shudders, thighs tightening around his head, a hand coming to rest in his hair, keeping him firmly in place.

Mitch comes like that, fingering himself while Auston laps at him hungrily, and when they manage to pull themselves out of bed and into the shower, Mitch asks to be fucked against the wall.

"That sounds, like, dangerous," Auston says, staring at Mitch's belly even as Mitch grasps at his cock.

"It'll be fine, c'mon," he says, one hand on the slick tile, the other behind himself trying to angle Auston's cock back inside him.

When Auston doesn't respond, biting his lip, Mitch sighs. "Matts, hey," he says, glancing over his shoulder. "You know you won't let me get hurt."

Auston stares at him, feeling his face go hot. Mitch smiles, thumbing over the head of his cock suddenly. "And I want it so badly," he continues, "you can't leave your omega hanging like that, dude."

Auston rolls his eyes, gripping Mitch's waist. "You were so close," he sighs, and Mitch's smile grows, twisting a little when Auston sinks inside of him. "Dude."

"Hey," Mitch starts, but Auston never ends up hearing what he was going to say next; he fucks Mitch with tight short thrusts that have Mitch plastered with his cheek against the tile, letting out tiny 'ah-ah-ah' noises each time he pulls out and fucks back in.

He's exhausted by the time he arrives at practice. He peels his beanie off slowly when he gets to his stall before undoing the buttons on his shirt.

Goat is watching him from the other side of the room. "Rough night?"

"Yeah," Auston says, and yawns.

"Mitch is taking a lot out of you, huh," he says.

John, who's apparently been lurking in the corner of the room, drops a hand onto Auston's shoulder. "Just wait until the baby arrives," he says stoically.

Auston scrunches up his nose.

Midway through practice he stops for a water break that's more an excuse to check his phone, and nearly chokes on his tongue when he opens Mitch's last snap.

_Want u_ says the text, on top of a photo of just his mouth, lips stretched around his favourite glittery bubblegum pink dildo. He's drooling a copious amount all the way down his chin, his neck.

"Are you okay?" Zach asks, coming up from behind him.

Auston very nearly chucks his phone at the wall. He's not sure how he manages to close it with such shaky hands. "Yeah," he says, coughing. "Went down the wrong pipe."

Zach runs his back before brushing past him.

Auston gets home half hard, dropping his bags in the foyer and storming into the living room, coming face-to-face with Mitch, who nearly knocks into him.

"Holy shit," he hisses, reaching out to grab Mitch by the shoulders and steady him. "Easy, baby, please."

He realizes, belatedly, that Mitch is completely naked, pawing at Auston's clothes and mouthing at his neck. "Missed you," he hums happily, completely oblivious to Auston's sudden outburst. Auston's mouth is suddenly dry as he runs his hands down the dip of Mitch's back, groping at his ass. "Daddy."

Auston groans, watching Mitch drop to his knees, skinny fingers coming up and yanking at the ties of Auston's sweats.

Mitch takes his cock all the way into his throat without preamble, lips stretched brutally, eyes dotted with tears. He sucks it as eagerly as Auston imagines he'd been sucking his toy earlier, jerking himself off as the fat plastic head rubbed against the back of his throat. Maybe he had another toy stuffed up his hole, a plug or a vibrator, rocking his hips down onto it, trying to fill himself up from both ends.

He tries to be nice, tries to stand there and pet Mitch's soft hair and let him suck at his cock at his own pace, but it doesn't last very long. He cradles the back of Mitch's head in both hands, fingers twisting into his hair, and holds him still as he starts to fuck his hot and wet and eager mouth.

Mitch’s jaw goes slack, pretty teary eyes staring up at Auston until Auston feels warmth in his belly, until he thinks he’s about to knot. He’s sure Mitch can feel it too; his eyes widen, almost scared.

Auston’s thought about knotting Mitch’s mouth but he’s never done it, and now he pulls out, letting his release splash all over Mitch, who whines his name, mouth still parted, licking up whatever he can. There’s so much come that by the time Auston’s cock is soft in his hand, Mitch is completely drenched down the front. It’s clumped in his eyebrows and lashes, dripping from the tip of his nose and his chin and his nipples, running down the flushed front of his chest, pooling on the stretched skin of his belly.

“Fuck,” Auston breathes, running a thumb over Mitch’s cheek. He collects some spunk on the pad of his finger, presses it into Mitch’s mouth. Mitch licks it off easily.

“Daddy,” he pants, rocking back on his heels, “fuck me.”

Auston complies, gathering Mitch up into his arms and carrying him up to their bedroom. With Mitch's belly in the way there's practically only three positions to fuck in now — Mitch on his back, both of them on their sides, or Mitch riding Auston.

(They technically have doggy style, too, but Auston just doesn't trust Mitch enough to not get so lost in the throes of pleasure that he drops from his elbows onto his belly.)

Going belly-down with his tight peachy little ass in the air was always Mitch’s — and Auston’s — favourite position. Mitch never fails to remind Auston of this — "I bet you can't wait to fuck me face-down again," he'll say out of the blue, fingers dancing along the back of Auston's neck. "Have me at your mercy, fuck me the way an Alpha should fuck his omega," — and Auston knows that as soon as it's possible, Mitch will roll over for him and present his ass like a fruit ripe for the taking.

Mitch hates riding because it involves him putting work in. He likes it on his back because then he can kiss Auston and suck on his tongue while he's being bred.

He really, really likes it on his side.

"Is that your dildo?" Auston asks him now, one of Mitch's legs hitched up, cock buried inside of him. He can see the pink dildo laying in a wet spot by the pillows, and he grinds into Mitch, grinning when Mitch mewls and comes. "Grab it, baby, why don't you show me how much you love sucking on it?"

Mitch does, reaching out blindly until his fingers wrap around it. He barely has the head of it fitted before Auston knocks his hand away, holding it from the base and fucking it into Mitch's mouth with the same rhythm he's fucking Mitch's ass.

"You're so needy for your daddy, aren't you," he whispers hotly into the shell of Mitch's ear. Mitch's throat contracts around the dildo, and Auston pushes it back past between the resistance until Mitch is coughing and gagging and drooling around it, limp against Auston's chest.

“It’s okay, baby,” he continues, pressing the dildo all the way in, holding it there, letting Mitch’s delicate throat work around it, “you get so wet for me, but you know how hard you get your daddy.” He’s not properly pulling out and thrusting back in anymore, is just rutting into Mitch from behind now. “You feel it, yeah? How big and hard it is? You did this to me.”

Mitch sobs and comes again.

Afterwards, Auston fills Mitch’s hole with his favourite plug and gets to work wiping him down. There’s jizz on every crevice of his body but he doesn’t seem to mind much, watching Auston through half-lidded eyes. He’s still suckling on his dildo.

“You tired?” Auston asks, running the cloth between Mitch’s thighs. It’s a lost cause, and Mitch seems to recognize that too.

“No,” he slurs wetly around it, and reaches a hand down, pulling at Auston’s hair. “Cuddle me.”

Auston goes.

———

———

———

Mitch started slowly building his nest from month two of his pregnancy, and by the time the sixth month rolls around Auston pretty much has no clothes anymore. He squints at their closet, at all the empty hangers, and then turns around, staring at the pile of fabric Mitch is currently cocooned inside of on the other side of their bed, watching the television with glazed-over eyes, the sleeve of Auston’s sweater in his mouth.

“Mitch,” Auston says, leaning against the frame of the closet. Mitch doesn’t answer, so he tries again. “Hey. Baby.”

Mitch glances at him.

“Can I borrow a shirt?” he asks. “I have practice in an hour.”

Mitch hisses at him.

“He _hissed_,” Auston whisper-shouts to John later, and it’s punctuated by Kerfy hurtling a puck at the boards on the opposite side of the rink. “Dude, he...he fucking _hissed_ at me.”

“Completely normal,” John tells him, placating, and then, louder, “Kerfoot! Try to aim for the net next time!”

Kerfy gives him a mocking salute and skates over to where Muzz is standing. “Normal?” Auston says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fuck me.”

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve done any research, but omegas do get territorial when pregnant.”

Mitch is territorial enough over Auston when he’s not pregnant, but — “my _shirt_?”

“You’re intruding on his nest,” John explains, and squints at something Auston does not care about across the rink. “Do that enough times and it could be a death sentence.”

When Auston remains quiet, chewing on the inside of his mouth, John sighs. “Would you like to borrow some of the books I bought when we were expecting?”

“Fuck no,” Auston says. “I don’t read.”

“You don’t read,” says Willy, from over his shoulder, “or you can’t read?”

He spends the rest of practice trying to kill Willy, and when he gets home Mitch is already asleep, bundled up in his nest. Auston doesn’t read but he does spend an inordinate amount of time on YouTube watching Nelk Boys and Bardown, so he looks up videos on nesting omegas.

There's a video posted by a pretty omega boy who talks, with many hand gestures, about his first time nesting during pregnancy. "When you get to the ninth month," he says, chipper, "you're basically nesting twenty-four seven. That's not an exaggeration."

Auston glances down at Mitch, shuffling in his nest. Mitch doesn't even nest often now but Auston always still feels a little lonely when he does retreat into it. The house feels so empty without Mitch screaming about memes and breaking shit and trying to climb Auston like a tree.

"My Alpha tells me that he was, like, actually afraid I'd rip his throat out when he got near me that first time," the boy continues. "But I'm on my fourth pregnancy now and he's so used to it, he knows how to deal with me."

Auston thinks, first, that he hopes he'll know how to properly navigate Mitch's next pregnancy. Then he thinks about how many kids he and Mitch are even going to have. Mitch is, like, so scarily fertile that even their doctor had been both surprised, shocked, and slightly worried. They only had to try once to knock him up, and he wasn't even in heat. Sometimes Auston feels like he wouldn't even have to fuck Mitch to get him pregnant; feels as if he could come down Mitch's throat and it'd somehow catch, feels as if he could come on Mitch's belly and get him pregnant from the inside out.

"I want twenty kids," Mitch had announced the one time Auston dared to broach the topic. "Enough for our own hockey team. Toronto two-point-o, baby. The Toronto Maple Winners, yo. Twenty-time Stanley Cup champs." His face screwed up then. "Wait. How many cups do the Habs have? I don't know. The Toronto Maple Winners have more than them, anyway."

Auston quickly changed the topic to 'which sour Maynards candy is the best' because, knowing Mitch, he'd get way into a debate like that. And he did.

Back then Auston was uncertain about a lot of things. He was uncertain about the Leafs, about Toronto, about their relationship. About Mitch.

A lot has changed in that time. He's still not sure that the Leafs will ever get a cup, thinks that the whole franchise may have actually just been cursed by an overzealous Habs fanatic at this point, but the city of Toronto has grown on him.

More than any of that, he's never been more certain of anything than his relationship with Mitch. He can't imagine a future without Mitch.

He's broken out of his thoughts when Mitch stirs in his nest, yawning sleepily. He's got a cowlick sticking up, and combined with his pink cheeks and rumpled clothes, he looks so young and warm. Auston wants to hold him close.

He hesitates though. "Mitch?" He reaches down from the bed, doesn't touch Mitch's nest, just reaches out and sweeps the fringe out of his boy's mirthy eyes.

Mitch leans into the touch, yawning again. "Alpha."

Auston smiles to himself. He feels fond, which is weird. A foreign feeling to him. "Wanna cuddle?"

"Yeah."

“Can I come in?”

His heart skips a beat because Mitch doesn’t answer, just tilts his head up and looks at him through his lashes, but then he nods, patting the space beside him. “Yeah.”

It doesn’t take long for Auston to climb down next to him, pulling Mitch into his lap and wrapping his arms around his waist, hands resting on his belly. Mitch is wearing Auston’s oldest Leafs sweater but he can still feel the warmth of skin through it.

Mitch nuzzles back into him, purring low in his throat. “Love you,” he says, voice thick with sleep.

“Love you,” Auston says, closing his eyes.

He really does. Even when Mitch wakes him up in the middle of the night and sinks down onto his cock, making himself come and then proceeding to kick Auston out of his nest. Even when he goes into practice the next day wearing nothing but his sweats, his sneakers, and his winter jacket, because that was basically all that was left in the closet.

“Where is your shirt?” Zach asks him uncertainly, as Willy tries and fails not to grin like an evil elf behind him.

“I don’t own any shirts anymore,” he says proudly, and doesn’t even care when he’s laughed out of the locker room and onto the rink. That’s probably real love, he thinks.


End file.
